


Breathe

by Annie17851



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Spuffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6998680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie17851/pseuds/Annie17851
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike is missing; they have to find him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathe Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Buffy needs some rest. Spoilers: General Season 7, Spike is missing; mostly Never Leave Me. Disclaimer: Still not mine; if they were, that basement scene would have been longer.

The house was a wreck, which seemed to be a chronic situation lately. Buffy looked around resignedly, as her brain tried to fathom a place for them to have taken Spike. The Hellmouth would be the most obvious place, and she was far from eager to venture back into the basement of the high school. She had to. They all had to. Whatever they needed Spike for would have to be stopped. Disturbing memories of Dawn as the Key, opening all the dimensions, plagued her as she tried to gather her thoughts and formulate a viable plan of attack.

She needed Giles.

She needed Spike.

She was tired. And thank the goddesses she knew a carpenter who would repair her house for cost.

"Okay," she began. "We need some kind of plan. While we try to come up with one, gather all the weapons we have in the house. Anya, look in on Andrew and see if he's okay. He'll be coming along with us. Don't give him any options."

She turned and headed to her room without another word, intending to find all the special weapons she kept hidden there. They would need everything. They would need everyone. She closed the door to her room and leaned against it heavily. She felt like she was on the verge of a panic attack, and almost laughed. Where the hell was Giles, anyway, and was he still alive and safe? She didn't expect Travers to actually ever call her back. She so wanted to punch his lights out.

She crossed the room and lay across the bed, reaching down to the floor on the opposite side, arm groping for the crossbow she knew was there. She stopped a second, breathing deeply, conquering the fear inside as she always did. Fear for Spike, for Giles, for her friends, especially for Dawn. She didn't even want to think about harm to Dawn, and the thought that the First Evil would use Spike as a sacrificial offering was too much to contemplate.

"Buffy," Willow asked tentatively from the doorway.

Got it. Reaching for something else now. "What?" she asked distractedly, thinking Will should be downstairs gathering weapons as well.

"Xander has a bunch more weapons at his place. He went to get them. He'll be back in a jiff. Anya and Dawn are with Andrew. She's fine."

Buffy didn't ask which 'she' Willow was referring to; they all knew she was always needing to know if Dawn was safe.

"Has anyone come up with a plan?" Buffy asked, righting herself, and pulling a few choice sharp objects out from under the bed as she did so.

"Not yet. We will. Why don't you close your eyes for a few minutes till Xander gets back. Get yourself ready."

Buffy shook her head tiredly. "I can't. We have to get him away from them before it's too late."

"You can't save everyone, Buffy." Willow said softly. "But no matter what, we're all with you in this. Even Xander, inexplicably." The witch smiled slightly at that.

"It's my job to save everyone." Buffy told her seriously.

Willow pushed her gently against the pillows. "Well, then, in the meantime, for the ten minutes it will take Xander to get back here, you need to conserve your energy and refuel the battery. Cleanse your mind, come up with a plan."

Buffy closed her eyes, briefly.

 

She was really having a panic attack, she had to be, because the fear inside her, deep down inside where no one was allowed to be, that fear was choking her. She'd left. She'd run from the basement and headed upstairs to Dawn, when all along she should have already figured out it was Spike they wanted. Why else would he have been residing in the school basement, all but on top of the Hellmouth? Why else would they have taken control of him, made him do the horrendous things he so recently despised himself for? She was The Slayer. She should have known, should have figured it out long ago. And now, now they could be doing anything to him, using him to awaken anything, destroying him in the process. Her breath hitched hurtfully in her sleep, little blackness in her head, telling her she couldn't breathe. No one else there to hear, Willow had already gone to check on the other girls and Andrew, satisfied that the ten minute nap she would get would be enough to clear Buffy's mind, point to a plan. Willow knew, even if the others didn't, how much Spike meant to Buffy lately. Even Xander wasn't as anxious to stake him as he had always been. She sighed; it was kind of like getting used to a pet one hadn't wanted at first.

In her quiet room, Buffy's breathing was ragged and worried, the sleep fitful and painful. She froze suddenly, inhaled even more sharply as she felt the cool almost touch ghost down her arm. Cool air near her ear, and a whispered word, "Breathe."

But she was holding her breath in her sleep, and the chill touch came again, tracing her jaw line this time. Still the whisper of air near her ear. "Easy. Just breathe."

The cold velvet tracked along the artery in her throat, and she couldn't breathe at all, something stopping the necessary muscles from working. Can't breathe, she thought, somewhere in the back of her tired mind.

"Yes, you can. Breathe," the cool air told her, caressing across the definition of her collarbone. No, you can't, the thing in her mind said, gripping tightly, and her chest hitched again, painfully, withholding the movement needed to draw in the oxygen.

Brush of phantom movement down her chest, hardening nipples, urging her lungs to relax, stop their struggling, take in the warm air.

"Breathe," softly, against the smooth skin between her breasts.

Another painful grab of her lungs. You can't breathe, the black voice in her head insisted.

Waft of cool air across her abdomen, contracting her muscles, warming inside. "Breathe, Buffy." And she almost knew, almost knew she was dreaming, almost knew she could breathe.

No breath, pain radiating from her empty lungs, up into her throat, keeping her silent.

Cool breeze like hands moving down her stomach and splayed open between her legs, cool shock of pleasure, familiar touch, familiar voice in her head. "You can breathe. Breathe for me." Pushing the blackness from inside her head.

You can't breathe. Black voice, weaker now, fighting to stay with her, chased by the cool commands caressing her warm skin.

"She can breathe." Icy satin covering her, moving against her weightlessly, crushingly. Can't breathe. Tiny blackness in her head, fading too slowly. Coolness still moving against her, making her heart beat faster, making her lungs reach out painfully for air. Cool yet warm not lips, touching and not touching, breathing and not breathing into her, chill of soft air filling her shockingly.

Can't breathe, stop breathing, tiny black glitter in her head, fading to nothing and she couldn't hear it anymore, could only feel the cool not there weight against her body, pushing, urging, forcing her muscles to move and respond, demanding ache in her body, commanding voice in her ear. "Breathe. Breathe for me, Slayer. Come for me."

Gone. All gone in a final agonizing pull of bedroom air into tortured lungs. Breathing urgently, and Buffy was wide awake now, sitting bolt upright on her bed, cool feel of the phantom savior still on her, all around her.

Willow in the doorway again, looking frightened, asking.

"A dream," Buffy insisted. "Just a dream."

She got to her feet abruptly, collecting the weapons she had pulled out from under the bed scant minutes ago. No one was going to get away with trying to destroy her in her sleep. And no one was going to kill Spike, either. Not as long as she was breathing.


	2. Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breathe, from Spike's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike's POV of Breathe

It was the shock of the cold water on his face that brought him to some semblance of lucidity. Not that he wasn't normally cold skinned himself, but the water was really frigid. Stupid bloody wanker the First was, trying to drown a creature who had no need to breathe, ever.

Of course, the purpose behind the chilly dunking soon became abundantly clear, even to Spike's hole riddled mind.

It was a symbolic thing, intended to impress upon Spike exactly what was happening to Buffy.

She was asleep. Restlessly to be sure, but asleep nonetheless, and Spike could hear it with her mind, knew the First meant for this to be a shared experience. One that could kill Buffy and leave Spike stranded forever, without her.

No, Spike's mind rebelled. She had to stay alive. She had to come and save him. Buffy believed in him, and somewhere in the back of his addled brain he saw that strange girl again, the one who had said, she will tell you. Buffy believed that he was a better man, and no force, earthly or un , could make him believe she wouldn't come for him.

Little blackness in Buffy's mind, in Spike's mind, cold wetness engulfing him, and the voice whispered smoothly, you can't breathe. Spike felt the grab in his own airless chest as Buffy's breath hitched painfully. He felt the ragged movement of her lungs, trying to obey the most instinctual command in the universe. If the First wanted him connected with Buffy, he'd damn well try to do something about this. He imagined brushing his hand down her arm softly, soothingly. Breathe, his mind voiced silently, and then his head was dragged out of the water and he was thrust roughly aside.

It was a good plan, for the First to pretend to be Drusilla, except for the fact that he didn't love Dru anymore. If he had ever really loved her at all, which, if measured against the level of feeling he had developed for Buffy, he really hadn't. It was too easy to ignore her now, let his mind slip back into the dark murk in which he had existed since he got back to the Hellmouth.

Apparently, Dru was not happy that he could resist her, and he was suddenly immersed in the water again, powerful force keeping him there, showing him what Buffy could feel.

She was holding her breath now, in her sleep, every effort to pull air into her lungs causing her pain both physical and mental. He visualized her face in his mind, used mental fingers to caress her jawline, dip into the hollow of her throat. Easy, just breathe, his mind commanded. Pain in his head, as the First recognized his attempts to thwart this.

He ignored the pain. He could ignore pain well, and had done a lot of that for the last two years or so. He needed Buffy to find him, and a simple pain in his head couldn't kill him. His mental fingers traced the throbbing artery in her neck, pulsing more quickly with the realization, somewhere inside her, that she wasn't breathing at all.

Can't breathe, Spike's mind heard in hers.

Yes, you can. Breathe, he demanded, ghosting his mind across her collarbone and then heading downward.

No, you can't, little black mind voice insisted, gripping her psyche tightly, making her chest hitch again, more hurtfully this time, and Spike could feel that, too, could still hear the tiny blackness in her head.

Phantom hands moving even lower, across chest and abdomen, soothing, trying to warm without warmth, trying to chase away the pain, chase away the tiny voice, feeling the push of the force against him to drive him even deeper into the frigid water. Make him feel the coldness of impending death.

Hands across hardening nipples, brush of air across her skin, breathe

Another squeeze of lungs already screaming for air. You can't breathe.

Painful lash of rebellion from Spike's mind, useless jerk against the arm holding him under, bruising dead skin.

Spike hands across her lower abdomen, contracting her insides and warming her, reminiscent of other times, actual hands on her. Breathe, Buffy. And Spike could sense that she almost could, sense the growing anger from the little black thing inside both their heads.

Pain roiling up from her airless lungs into her throat, stopping any sound she might have made, any little sound from herself that might have awoken her, making her breathe again.

Dream hands splayed between her legs, shock of unexpectedly cool pleasure, a touch she knew, a voice she knew. He felt her writhe with the touches and the desperate need for her lungs to expand. Spike's lungs were burning with her effort, and he pushed against the blackness in their heads. You can breathe. Breathe for me.

You can't breathe, little voice, weakening against the onslaught of the cool touches and airy whispers against her mind and body. Phantom weight against all of her, covering her, moving against her, shielding her. She can breathe, the words drifting through Spike's mind like some kind of saving mantra.

Can't breathe, fading little voice in their heads, not gone enough.

Moving against her, ghost of lips over her mouth, mind born not breath reaching into her, cold water in his face and incredible pain in his head. Still moving, still rebelling, still touching, covering, trembling.

Can't breathe, stop breathing, last angry command and then nothing, black voice gone, faded. Still not breathing, and Spike pleaded one more time before he was pulled out of the water and thrown to the floor once more.

Breathe. Breathe for me, Slayer. Come for me.

Gasping for her breath as he lay there, not knowing if she breathed or not. If she was alive or not. Tortured twist in his mind and his insides, and he closed his eyes against the thought, against the memory of her death.

Whether she came for him or not, Spike wouldn't give in, didn't care who the First decided to turn into to convince him.

Buffy believed in him. Spike believed she would come.


	3. Breath of Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike's belief is well founded. Buffy comes for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buffy finally found him.

she

Hot prick of pain as the tip of the dagger traces the already open pattern on his chest

will

Flutter of swollen eyelids in frustrated resignation as he feels the trail of the precious blood making its' way down his abdomen to disappear into the already stained black denim beneath

come

Unexpected coil of heat in his groin at the double meaning of the word he had not really meant in THAT context right now

for

Blaze of fire on his skin as the razor sharp steel sketches yet another symbol on the tortured parchment that is his skin

me.

Flare of rebellion in his soggy mind, as he starts the mantra over again inside

she will come for me.

Sometime later, chance for that rebellion he has been feeling, as he brings his legs up to powerfully snap the neck of the demon bearing down on him for yet another sketching session. Strong, determined snap of the ropes tying his arms back, and brief, victorious struggle with another demon before he finds himself on his way, out into the cave, and there she is.

She came for me, flowing exultantly through his mind and he searches her face futilely. Just a dream, a fantasy of love born of desperation. He is still captive against the rough stone.

she will come for me.

He blinks, and she is there. He doesn't trust this, doesn't trust anything anymore, can't rely on any of his senses. Just because it looks like it, sounds like it and even smells like it, it isn't Salvation coming for him. Not yet.

It speaks. "Poor Spike. He still thinks I believe in him."

i do

"Be realistic. I don't even believe in myself."

i have enough belief for two

"At least, not enough to risk my skin to save your ass. Not enough to face that." It looks in the direction of the Hell born thing they had bled him to raise.

He tries again to reach for her mind. He hasn't been able to find her since the end of the drowning incident, but he thinks desperately that with the vision of her right here, right in front of him, maybe he can. The First would not be stupid enough to allow it, he despairs, when he fails once more.

It still speaks to him. "I'm sorry, Spike. You need to accept this."

never

"You know it would never have worked out. It's time to let go."

time to hang on, find his mantra again; his lips are moving of their own accord

"So we can both move on. I promise, soon it will all be." Its' voice drifts off, looking more intently, leaning closer to hear.

"she will come, she will come for me, she will come for me, she will come for me.."

It comes even nearer, impossibly close. "No, I won't"

yes, she will

The mantra goes on and on in his head and on his lips, until he passes out in utter exhaustion.

Someone he doesn't know this time, except as the identity stealing nightmare who seems to own him now, body and new born soul.

"Well, alone again," It gloats, and she is back. The not she. "I just love having you to myself." It approaches with malice in Its' eyes and Spike shuts himself down against the force of the thoughts projected at him, Its' promise of more shattering pain yet to come.

she will come for me

And still later, yet again, and Spike wonders if it's still today, or if it's tomorrow or next week or next year. Another touch of rebellion, born of the anger and fear inside.

He looks at It blearily through his painfully swollen eyes.

It stands there, weapon in hand, most likely looking for an untouched inch of skin to turn into a canvas. Good luck finding one

"A knife now, is it?" He sounds so much braver than he feels, and now It can suddenly touch weapons. Bloody great, that is

she will come; I can endure, because she will come

It stays silent, not mocking this time, just looking gravely.

"Well..well, you can't hurt me." Much more without killing me for good. "You're just a bloody figment, you are. You're just..."

moving toward him and if he had breath it would be stopped in his chest in anticipation of the intense pain he knows is coming

arms moving up in front of him, and It silently uses the knife to slice through the leather binding him, steps back, and he looks, and It's looking back at him, into him. not it.

She. Really-real she and he holds onto her and just looks and he can see. Words she can't force herself to speak, walled up behind her eyes and clearly heard in his mind

I had to come for you.

Leaning against her with a half sob, half breath of relief and she releases his eyes and takes him, leads him and the mantra in his brain is laid to rest

She came for me.


	4. Breathing in Sync

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afterward; Buffy and Spike; more explicit now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has to be a happy ending. I have no idea if there is an attic in the Summers' house, but there is now.

Spike rolled over on the small bed, unable to sleep and tired of looking around at the various boxes of whatever the Summers’ women had stored in their attic. Since they were currently using the basement as Slayer Training Central, and since Buffy didn’t feel the need to keep him chained up anymore, he had been relegated to the attic, over in a corner on a small extra bed that Spike thought had probably been in that spot since the house was built. Not that he really minded. Hell, he’d slept on lots worse, stone slabs and coffins included. And he was grateful for the bed anyway, since he wasn’t entirely healed from the tender ministrations of his hosts in the First’s cave. 

Helping train the Potentials was like a reward for him. It was something that showed him, more than anything, that Buffy trusted him now. She’d told him herself, before they came and took him. That reminded him of pain again, and he closed his eyes against the memory of having to practically hypnotize himself by rolling the words in his mind continuously, just to save what little sanity he’d had left. 

She will come for me. 

She had come for him. Thing of it was, he’d never doubted it, never doubted her. He kept his eyes closed and reached out with his vampire senses; barest hint of potential slayers far below him; stronger feel of actual Slayer, but closer, just below on the second floor, in her bedroom. 

No, coming closer to him. He could hear the footsteps going down the hall, caught the light sound of them on the steps, climbing. Calmly, no sense of haste, so apparently no emergency; good thing, because he was tired and his ribs ached just a bit tonight. 

She stopped at the top of the steps, eyes automatically scanning the cluttered space in the dark, fathoming out any possible threats before she could allow herself to relax, and he was grateful for the sheet covering him from the waist down, a fortunate afterthought he had deemed necessary due to the amount of too young girls residing in the house. 

“Nobody up here but us tortured vamps, Pet.” 

He spoke softly, so that he wouldn’t startle her, but he got the feeling that she had known he was awake. 

She moved unerringly through the dimness of the room toward him, backlit by the one small window that allowed any light or air, and he let his eyes take in the long shirt she had worn to bed, empty ache inside as he remembered the feel of the flesh beneath. 

“I wanted to make sure you were all right here, if the bed is okay. I know you still hurt some places.” She trailed off, and Spike decided she wasn’t being totally honest about why she was there. He already knew she had plenty of injuries herself, and would expect him to function at least as well as she was herself despite them. 

He smiled sadly as she reached the bed and sat a bit unsurely next to him. “You know me, Buffy – right as bloody rain, couple of broken bones mean nothing. I was really hoping we’d run into a good nest of demons tonight, have ourselves a real, all out brawl. Give the little hopefuls a good lesson.” 

“Spike,” she admonished lightly, giving him her own soft smile in return, and he wished his heart could beat, so he would be able to feel it quicken at the sight. She looked down at her hands in her lap, uncomfortable in his presence, and he wondered what was nagging at her. 

“You couldn’t sleep either.” Spike stated simply, knowing without asking, feeling inside that she needed to talk about something. “What is it? I mean, aside from the obvious.” 

She ran a hand briefly up his arm, remembering the cool touch of his hand in the cemetery tonight and the feel of the cool phantom brush up her own arm that other time, when the First tried to invade her dreams, almost succeeded. And that was what she needed to talk about. 

She hesitated, gathering jumbled thoughts, and Spike laid quietly, patiently, savoring the heat coming from her and warming his personal space so nicely, knew she would get to it eventually, knew it was hard for her to open up. 

“When they came and took you,” she began suddenly, speaking softly, so as not to disturb the palpable silence any more than necessary. “I felt like a total idiot, not being able to foresee it. I should have known, because you were sopossessed. I guess that’s the only word that fits.” 

Spike opened his mouth to say something and she laid warm fingers on his lips to quiet him, removing them all too soon. He could still feel the heat of them even as she went on speaking. 

“I didn’t even want to sleep. Didn’t even want to rest until we could figure out a way to get you back. And then all the Potentials started showing up, and things were so crazy, and all the time, I kept thinking I had to get you back. But that first day, after they came, we were trying to come up with a plan, something. We didn’t, then, but as you can see, we figured it out eventually. Xander went to get a stash of weapons from his house, and I was just laying down, just for a few minutes. I needed to clear my head, but I fell asleep” 

“And couldn’t breathe,” Spike finished for her. She looked at him, eyebrows raised in question as he nodded slowly. 

“Bloody torture. They made me feel it, you know. Tried to drown me. Stupid, the whole lot of them, but they put me in your head, and made me feel everything. When I thought I could breathe with you.” He couldn’t find the words for that, so just went on. “I knew I could feel you, but I didn’t know if you’d know I was there.” 

“You were there. I thoughtat first I thought it was a nice dream, but then I heard the voices in my head. A black thing, telling me I couldn’t breathe. You, trying to breathe for me. It was, well, unsettling, is the first word that comes to mind.” 

“Truer words, Slayer,” Spike agreed, trying to lighten the mood, afraid of where it might all be going, and none of it good for Spike. “It wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be either. Bloody hurt to try making these old lungs work again without nicotine to move through them.” 

She slapped at him without thinking, his eyes closing with a sudden shock of pain and she was instantly reminded that he was even more injured than she was. 

“Spike, oh, god, I’m so sorry!” she apologized, grabbing his hand with hers, the familiar coolness quickening her pulse, Spike squeezing her fingers tentatively. He could hear it, sense it, that slight acceleration of the blood through her veins. 

“They really did a job on you, didn’t they?” she sympathized, reaching out with her free hand to just barely touch the slowly fading scars and bruises so easily apparent on the pale skin. Traced the remnants of the runic symbols they had carved into his chest with the lightest touch of a finger, and felt a surprising urge to follow their shapes with her tongue. “I feel like this was my fault. I should have known. Should have watched you more closely.” 

“I was grateful to be watched at all, Luv.” He admitted openly, not able to remember things he’d said to her under the influence of the First and not wanting to know anyway. 

Buffy had stopped her soft exploration of his injuries and left her hand resting on his stomach, remembering the feel of the hard muscles almost absently. She felt warm. “Well, I’m sorry if you’re in pain, and I know it hurts to fight, but we have to get them ready, or they’re all going to die.” 

“Buffy,” he started, wanting to tell her he was okay, she didn’t have to be sorry, didn’t have to keep holding his hand, even though it was going to crack his still heart when she let go and went back downstairs. 

“Where does it hurt?” she interrupted him to ask, and he laughed darkly. 

“Where doesn’t it would be an easier question to answer, Luv.” 

She raised the hand she was holding up closer to her face, examining it in the dim light, warm breath washing over his fingers, making him regretfully aware of the coldness of the rest of him. 

“Does it hurt here?” she whispered, brushing her lips across his knuckles. Every muscle in his body froze and he couldn’t have answered her for anything in the world. She pressed her lips onto the back of his hand, and then licked his fingers, slowly, one by one, tantalizing parody of things she used to do to his cock, back when he had her and then didn’t, never actually had. 

“Buffy,” he tried again, but she shut him up quite effectively by closing her eyes and running her tongue in a long, hot trail right from the palm of his hand to the inside of his elbow, frozen muscles melting into tiny tremors of desire from the sheer heat of it. 

“Does it hurt here?” she murmured against his skin, nipping lightly on the sensitive inside of his arm. 

No answer yet, so she kept going, up his arm to his shoulder and Spike was never so glad in his life that he slept naked, couldn’t stand the thought that the distraction of having to stop to remove clothing might give her pause, cause her to stop what she was doing, because it would probably drive that bit of sanity he did have left right out of him. 

“Does it hurt here?” she asked again, little sucking kisses to his shoulder, and he hissed roughly at the pleasure/pain as she moved over a bruise there, tightened his grip on the hand he was still holding, while his other hand came up without his even thinking about it to the back of her head, twining into the golden hair, soft and familiar, and Spike waited to wake up, waited to see the not She standing before him, knew this had to be some trick of his mind, the cruelest thing the First could come up with to torture him finally into total madness. 

“It does,” she said softly, answering her own question. She ran her tongue and lips across the top of his shoulder then, heart beating faster at the feel of his hand in her hair, sense memories heating her blood, flaring her nostrils to catch the scent of him, his cool skin making hers feel that much hotter. She needed to be naked, but couldn’t bring herself to move away just yet, didn’t actually know if she ever would. 

She bit his collar bone, and Spike knew he was awake and here, moaned and finally allowed his hips to thrust upward instinctively, knew she felt the movement beside him when he felt her lips curve in a smile over the scarred symbol her tongue was tracing on his chest, a feeling so different from the sharp blade that had caused it. Slight pressure of her weight against his sore ribs, and he pushed it out of his mind. She let go of his hand, started sliding her hands down along his sides and paused, lightening her touch, afraid to cause him more pain. Spike tugged gently on the hair in his hand, making her look at him, ache all over inside him at the sight of her like this. He shook his head slightly. “No easing up,” he whispered, hearing the quickening of her pulse as he said it. “I need to feel you, need to feel everything.” 

She licked roughly over a nipple and let her hands continue their slide down his cool, smooth skin, eyes closed against the sound of the moan above her. She reached down with one hand to cup her fingers over his cock, no way the sheet was going to hide that from her, and then reached back up to his waist and pulled it away, flinging it to the bottom of the bed. 

Spike reveled in the ache in his ribs, because he could feel the contrast of the pure pleasure driving through him at the same time. He pulled her face up to his, hands framing her jaw, whispering her name into her mouth as he kissed her, softly, then a bit more hungrily, sliding his tongue against hers, reaching for the roof of her mouth, reaching into her as far as he could. She moaned on his tongue and he reached down behind her to pull on her shirt. He needed her heat against him with no barriers, had to know she was really there, had to feel her on him everywhere. 

She released his mouth only long enough to pull off the long shirt, struggling out of her panties as well and flinging them away, going back to his mouth, almost warm now, from her kisses. 

Buffy straddled him, hot thighs against his sides, and raised herself up far enough over him to bring her breasts close to his face, ran an erect nipple across cool, seeking lips, and Spike captured one in his mouth, swirl of tongue, just the right pull with his lips, making her moan, and his hands left her face to trail down her throat, feeling the hot pulse there beneath his fingers, making his cock twitch, needing her heat around it. His hands smoothed down her chest to hold both breasts, playing while he feasted and she gasped her pleasure somewhere above him. She pulled away from him then, lowering herself again, tongue back to its’ earlier devotion, licking his throat, planting teasing kisses around his mouth, and then she went lower, tracking down his wonderful chest and stomach, little swirl around his navel, her body a firm pressure on his aching cock. And lower still, face near his dick and he reached down with both hands, fisting them in her hair again, tried to direct her to where he desperately needed her. 

Buffy relented, thought she had teased just enough, and leaned over to blow softly across the head of his cock, rewarded with the anguished groan it pulled from Spike. 

“Does it hurt here?” she asked him suggestively, running a finger over the damp slit and then following it with a sharp swipe of her tongue. Spike’s hips came right up off the bed and she was ready for him, open mouth and he was in, and never expected it right then. Wet furnace on cold marble and he could feel his eyes trying to roll back in his head, arched his body and threw his head back to suck in air he didn’t need. Hard suction on his cock and he couldn’t be quiet. “Fuck, Buffy, fuck, that’s sothat’s, please come up here.” 

Hated with everything in him the thought of that hot mouth leaving him, but needed to have her up with him. Pulled even before he knew she agreed, pulled her up to his face, devouring her mouth, feasting on her hungry moans, thought he died again when she pushed down onto his cock and inched it into herself, little twist of hips as she impaled herself, strangled cry of pleasure into his mouth as he grabbed her hips and pushed her down suddenly until he was all the way in, cock on fire inside her, hands on her hips, holding her there, and he just moved inside her, felt the pulse of her blood on his cock. Lessened his grip on her as she started to move, wanted her to be able to move, wrench every drop out of him, take him for her own. 

“Spike,” she whispered into his mouth, hands gripping the sides of his face as she moved on him relentlessly, fire in his brain, unaccustomed heat all over him, “Breathe with me, breathe for me.” 

Spike lost any semblance of control he thought he might have had then, as Buffy stopped kissing his mouth and breathed into him, warm wash down his throat, and then again, hard enough to move his lungs, intensify the pain in his ribs, heat inside him, heat where there hadn’t been anything in forever, nothing like the pretend breaths he took when he smoked or when he tried to scent out some prey, warmth and Buffy in him, heat inside, heat around his cock and he was coming, the warm borrowed breath flowing back out of him as he gasped into her mouth. Buffy was coming too, and the spasms around his cock intensified the already burning feel of her, he couldn’t kiss her hard enough, couldn’t hold her close enough, not ever. 

Buffy wanted to collapse onto him and hold him, but she didn’t want to hurt him, even though she knew he wouldn’t complain. Too loudly, anyway. She rolled onto her side, whole body up against him, reaching to take his hand as he leaned his head down to kiss her face softly. 

“That was - unexpected.” He said quietly, squeezing her fingers softly. 

“That’s why I wanted to,” she tried to explain. “I know you haven’t been expecting anything, and after all you’ve been through, all you’ve done and how far you’ve come.I wanted to make sure you believed everything I told you in the basement before they took you away.” 

“Oh, I believed it, Pet. I think it saved my life. I know it saved my sanity. I needed to hang onto something.” 

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, Spike, but I know we all need something to hang onto.” 

She reached over to kiss him again gently, resting her head on his shoulder then, closing her eyes. 

Spike held her hand in the dark and listened to her breathe.


End file.
